Cele's Scrolls

My dad passed away 18 years ago this Friday (24 Feb). It's really not something that you get used to. Not ever. It changes. The pain changes. It evolves. It's less immediate and grievous. There's no more denial. No more negotiation. You've accepted it, you know they're not coming back. But you realize the time between the loss and the current date is never getting smaller. It will always grow. You'll never see them again, hear them again. There's no more pictures, no more video. Only what already exists and hasn't been lost. That's a different kind of pain, and it's a deep one that's rooted somewhere deep in your heart. Especially when it's your parent. You wonder what it'd be like if they were around for these different significant events in your life. You wonder how they'd react to the things you'd like, what likes you'd share, what you'd talk about. Especially if you were young as I was at the time of the loss. I was 9, and my parents hadn't lived together since I was 6. My mother took my sister and I and moved from a city with so many intersections, interstates, highways... to the countryside, this quiet little one red light town. We only seldom saw dad after that, though I was ecstatic when we had the chance to. So now, when I know that my dad liked classic rock, like Metallica and Guns N' Roses and Aerosmith and Mötley Crüe... Y'know, classic rock and metal. I can't help but wonder how he'd feel about the music I like, especially since my music evolved from a lot of that, it's kinda the same thing but with more modern twists and interpretations. Progressive rock/metal, djent, metalcore. Would he care about Johari, or Myrath, or TesseracT, or Spiritbox, or Periphery? Or any of the others? Would he enthusiastically listen and attend concerts with me, or would he think it was decent enough but not quite his cup of tea, or would it be kind of more humouring me just for the sake of doing things together? Would he have any excitement or admiration for the fact I followed in his footsteps and also come to know how to do computer programming? That I was formally educated in it? That that's the work I do, and how I make my money? Would he care that I never continued Aikido when he wanted me to, or that I didn't have the same enthusiasm about the Navy that he did? I bet he'd be okay with it. He probably accepted that I'd be my own person pretty easily. I know mom said he worshipped the ground my sister and I walked on. But it's different not hearing any of it from him, you know? You realize you have the same general personality as them, sometimes. I'm kind of a carbon copy of my dad in a way, at least the core personality type and some general interests. I just have a different biological sex, different body. Of course I have differences. But the likeness is uncanny to my mother. The smallest traits and habits that seemed to have passed on solely through genetics, because I was too small to really socially pick them up from him myself. So the way my nose tips upward, my fingertips slope upward, the way my lips purse when I'm focused, the way I use certain phrases. "Fair enough," he'd say, and I say the same, each of us with a curt little nod. The same humour, even the perverse, (sometimes) intentionally contrarian, nitpicky or overly specific bits. The jokes about using the tissues from our runny noses to make a papier-mâché Snoopy. The inability to see the big picture because we're stuck on details, the inability to mince words because we only know how to speak our minds (though this does mean we give genuine advice when we understand a given situation). The need to walk slowly, deep in thought, to stop and smell the roses. The pranks and jokes where we can't accept being one-upped -- where if you pour a cup of water on our head we come back with a firetruck and douse you with its hose until you call uncle, all while laughing maniacally. Sometimes that gets us in trouble. But sometimes this stuff is part of our charm, too. We also jump hobby to hobby, chasing the hyperfoci and little projects we want to do, always reading new things, always trying to learn about everything. We're insatiable with knowledge, never knowing all we want to know... not knowing anything except for the fact that we are ignorant of so many things. Mom fell in love with him dearly for these things, and always saw the same parts of him in me. He had logic that complimented her chaos, but chaos that could also keep up with hers if the mood hit. In a way, the loss hit her harder because I was still here, always reminding her. In a way, it didn't hit as hard because it meant he was still here in a way. It was still painful, though. She mourned deeply for years, we still do. I guess the point of all of this is just... love the folks in your life while you can. Let them know you appreciate them, that you love them, that you want to spend time with them. And do so. And know the loss isn't always the end. They'll still be with you in different ways, with the memories and experiences they left you with, with the ways they changed your life or became a part of you, or the ways they were part of you from the start. Even if they're not biological family. This is biological for me, but it isn't always so. It doesn't have to be. Anyway... I think I'm going to leave it here. This is long enough as it is, and I don't want to ramble further. Thanks for reading.